


Beware Of You

by Geeklove



Category: Star Trek - Various Authors, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Cheesy, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Teenage Drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-04-10
Packaged: 2018-01-18 09:04:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1422460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geeklove/pseuds/Geeklove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Sarek's death, Amanda moves with Spock to Earth, where she hopes he'll be able to find a way to balance himself. Cadet Jim Kirk, on the other hand, has a lot to worry about without having to tutor some little brat, but money is money, and the boy's cute. Things get complicated when everyone seems to say 'He's too young for you' before 'Hi' for breakfast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing.
> 
> While Star Trek Ongoing is messing everything up, I thought 'hey, I can do zat!' So here we are with this story. Warnings: Underage. I wanted Spock to be nineteen, but bleh, he's still on highschool, so no. Eventual Spirk, for obvious reasons. Enjoy!
> 
> Edited because of the horryfiying typos!!

_**One**_

"Jimmy!"

He looks over in time to see a familiar woman entering the lobby. He breaks instantly on a smile. She's still very much as he remembers; the same brownish hair and eyes, and the gentle, easy smile fit in the kindness of her mouth. Standing from the regulation chair he's been sitting, rather uncomfortable if you ask him –as everything under Starfleet facilities use to be, really–, Jim walks over to greet her.

He pulls out the most winning smile in his repertoire, just because Jim knows she'd like it. "Amanda," and ads, jokingly, "fancy meeting you here!" Up close there are some more obvious traces of time on her face, but not alarmingly so. A speak at the corner of the eyes, a line at the end of the smile just like the proverbial cauldron at the end of a rainbow.

There are other details that escapes him, though. Like the way she holds herself, relaxed than ever, a little hunched down in a kind of accepted resignation.

And she is not alone. A boy stands nearby, a youth Vulcan, one stoic step behind her. His hands are at his back, his face totally blank. Jim's eyes flickers toward him momentary, then back to Amanda when she speaks.

"Isn't it?" her tone is delighted. Amanda Grayson's been always a cheerful person. He likes that of her. It makes him think of the way a mother should be, no matter what. "Who could have guessed?" but it sounds more like somebody actually should. Jim wonders for a brief instant if there is some subtlety on it.

From the corner of his eye he catches the Vulcan boy tilting the head ever so slightly, as if echoing Jim thoughts, gaze fixed on her.

"Came here to see the old man?" asks Jim. She tries to pursue the lips in a disapproving way, just like she did when, while teaching him xeno-lenguistics, she found out his natural talent for picking up the worst examples of 'discourtesy' in four different alien tongues. She fails at it.

"Yes. I have a meeting with _Captain Pike_ ; so do you, it seems," he nods, shrugging one shoulder.

"His secretary said I'd have to wait until he's free," Jim rolls the eyes, because seriously. He has two classes simultaneously and he's still trying to figure a way to sort it out without failing to any of them. He'd think of something, eventually, but did the old guy have to call for him and make him wait? He hated waiting.

Amanda changes the topic, asking him about Winona and the Academy, all the time under the scrutiny of the Vulcan boy, who watches Jim like he was some weird insect he wants to dissects. It makes him felt nervous, self conscious until, suddenly, the boy seems to decide the exchange is entirely too boring and wanders in a close radius, taking in the sight of the folding chairs and the desk perched besides the door to Pike's office. The secretary, as Jim recalls, hasn't been even there for the past fifteen minutes.

He signals towards the Vulcan boy.

"So, who's this?"

The boy, who is inspecting a three-dimensional model in scale of a Klingon's warship seating atop a foot in one corner, perks his head up at the question, frowning deeply.

"Oh," as if she's just forgotten, and she smiles kindly to the boy and makes a gesture for him to come over. Jim turns to Amanda, mouthing a silent 'cute' that makes her chuckle. Jim smiles in response.

The boy walks to stand right next to her. She looks like a child in comparison; he's at least a head taller than Amanda. But then he realizes the unmistakable look-alikeness. Especially in the eyes.

She brushes imaginary crumples off the sleeve of his knitted sweater. "Indeed he's cute" answers, and adds; "he's Spock, my son."

Oh. Jim eyebrows shoots up in surprise, but then changes the expression into a broad smile. She's sound so proud of the boy he's almost jealous. The Vulcan boy, _Spock_ , analizes him once again. By then he looks ready to stamp him under the heels of his foot like a disgusting bug. For some reason Jim thinks he can hear that freakingly logical mind thinking about it. Creepy.

"It's a pleasure to meet you-" Spock deliberately hesitates. It appears _Jimmy_ will not do for him.

"Oh," Amanda says again, now fully addressing her son. "He's Jim Kirk. Winona Kirk's son?"

Spock nods shortly down at her. The lack of expression on his face sums up perfectly all the difference between them. They make a perfect contrast of each other, bound together by blood and subtle details such like a specific way to look or the shape of the cheekbones. He turns to Jim.

"-James Kirk."

"Just Jim is okay," he replies. The boy says nothing.

The following minute is filled with an awkward silence. At some point the secretary walks in again nonchalantly holding a mug of what seems to be, by the strong scent, black coffee, to knock once at Pike's door. She sticks the head onto the office without an answer, and sure enough, the old man is all over them not too much after that.

* * *

It's not easier by the moment Amanda and Pike steps inside the office and the secretary finds one or another excuse to disappear yet again. That lets Spock and Jim alone, and he seriously thinks for a moment on leaving, but how rude and immature would that be?

The Klingon's ship model has lost interest to Spock's eyes, it seems, because five minutes later he's staring intently to the various maps of stellar routes hanging on the walls the way one would contemplate a Van Gogh.

Jim pulls out his padd and over-reads the article he is due to study for a late class, but cannot manage to become too involved with it and tosses it inside his bag, instead.

_Tribbles_? Really?

He passes around, throwing glances to the Vulcan boy, touching everything he can reach for. "So…" he says, making some of his own inspection on an article of décor from the desk. The thing swirls on his outstretched palm with a faint swoosh. "How old are you?"

There is no response for such a long time he thinks there wouldn't be any.

"Seventeen, by standard time."

Jim nods to himself. A boy indeed.

"Uh-hum. How's school?" he's turned to face Spock in time to see him scowling at the map in front of he wasn't so creepy, he could present him to Bones. The both of them might get easily along. Jim snorts and hides the sound behind a cough. He leans against the desk, still holding the swooshing artifact just to have something else to look at.

"It is acceptable."

"Cool."

This makes the Vulcan boy change his gaze from some point on the Andromeda Galaxy to Jim. "I do not understand."

Jim shrugs, taking an effort on not to shows how much it surprises him the fact that Spock it's actually talking to him. "Umm, y'know. Free weekends? Party at the pool? Hot chicks? That kind of fun stuff?" he plasters on a friendly smile, but it looks like the most he tries to be amicable the more pissed off Spock seems to be.

"Fun is not a correct statement," the Vulcan boy smoothes out. "Procrastination maybe 'cool', but it is not what knowledge is about."

He recites this with such a dispassionate quality Jim thinks he's talking to an android. He frowns a little. The paperweight is making an increasing sound, swirling faster in the crock of his hand, and he switches the thing around to make it stop. It its dead silent once he puts it where he found it earlier.

"Procrastination is not always bad. And knowledge can be boring sometimes."

Squaring the shoulders, Spock shifts his body a fraction of an inch. "Knowledge is never boring, mister Kirk."

The door opens to interrupt Jim's reply. Amanda and Pike are conversing in a light tone, like the old friends they actually are.

With a promise of tea over a slice of homemade pie, Amanda and Spock are gone. _Fucking kid._

* * *

Spock meditates a lot. To him, is a way to compensate for his disadvantage, that is, the human-half that breeds him. To Amanda's eyes is just another way to extricate himself from the world.

He's quiet on the hover-car, in their way towards home. She sneaks a look briefly on the passenger direction, just to find his contemplative profile.

"It's everything all right, honey?" she asks, returning the attention to the streets.

Like so many overly humanly expressions, the endearment makes him wince uncomfortable. She's thought San Francisco, so different from Shi'Kahr, would meant a change of wind for both of them for the better. She hoped he would embrace the experience as a part of his own nature, but Amanda has the sinking feeling it is not the case.

She knows how hard Spock works to clearly outstand from the human life now. It doesn't stop Amanda of worrying, but once there's no answer, she decides to give him space. What else can she do?

"He called you Amanda," Spock breaks in before she can turn on the radio.

She frowns. "Indeed, he did," uncertainly Amanda searches for clues on her son's face, which, of course, there are none. "You know we tend to be more relaxed in our social interactions. We cannot always be formal."

But she's explained that before, and he's scowling now.

"I do know that."

The conversation ends up as abruptly as it started. Amanda really wishes she could read minds, sometimes.


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, this is funny, hope you find it half as likeable as myself B)

_**Two** _

Amanda has an ancestor who used to be a detective. Spock used to enjoy hearing stories about his eccentricities. He has had no failures in his working, maybe many in other aspects of his personal life –but she won’t admit that–. The man has been a kind of hero for her boy.

Sarek would constantly say she was indulging their son in unnecessary fantasies. She would scowl at him, peering through an inquisitive stare, insisting that the man has been a scientist, and therefore, a man of knowledge. Sarek would shut up, if only to indulge _her_.

The thing is, Spock has taken a lot of it for himself, and sometimes Amanda wonders how much it is her fault. He tries to be flawless in every goal he takes. Call it school; call it a new language, a new study of a foreign culture. Call it even home. In the surface, it works. Deep inside, there are cracks.

Spock’s only seventeen. To her eyes, a little boy lost in a big city. And he’s different, too. She would like to say it’s not dangerous anymore to be different, but it would be a lie.

So, she’s concerned. So, she takes him with her up to Christopher Pike, and of course it’s a coincidence Jim Kirk’s there too.

Spock could use a friend, she thinks.

* * *

 

It is good to be invisible. Nobody bothers you. Nobody ask inadequate or unnecessary questions. There are no awkward encounters between people who should act friendly but still don’t know each other enough to be relaxed in such occasions. The bridge that comes across strangers to acquaintances –humans uses the world ‘friend’ so indiscriminately– does not exists, and because there is nobody, there are no cracks.

It is adequate. High school is often compared to a jungle, which, if one considers the rummaging population of over-hormonal teenagers, it is an accurate description, albeit banal. Spock does not need the attention, he does not seek it. It is okay for him –if there is a place to use such a word– to be ignored.

The few first days on San Francisco he’s received a lot of stares. Everybody seemed to have an extra sense to know when he would enter a room to turn to look at him. It has made him uncomfortable. Many people were cordial, even inviting. Many were just curious. Of his features, of his way of talking, of his way of moving round. Of his alienism. Eventually they got used to it and promptly forgot to even talk to him.

Between that and being at the top of attention only because his heritage, Spock prefers the first one. On Vulcan he has always outstood. On Earth, even if considered strange, he could pass for a ghost. Most of the time, it is okay (which is also a vague term).

* * *

 

Mother signs in the kitchen. It could be more accurate to describe it as ‘humming’ a singsong. Spock listens, absently, head tilted to the side while he straightens the last pair of cutlery to a perfect ninety degree. The air smells of Terran food, a mixture of spices and vegetables. Vegan.

The door chimes once.

“Honey, can you take it, please?”

Spock winces, pressing the lips lightly. He is in the door on 12,1 seconds, and when he opens it, there it’s a bouquet of flowers tossed in his face. He scowls into the colorful handful of _Erodium malacoides_ , making an effort not to choke on the sweet scent. Or wanting to eat them.

Two-point-three seconds of stillness and the bouquet of violet flowers disappears. The hand moves down, and there he is. James T. Kirk.

“Oh, umm, sorry about that. I was totally not expecting you, I swear it,” he doubts, grinning stupidly. _‘Stupidly’_ , Spoke notes, it’s not a proper adjective, but it is quiet fitting to describe the expression. “Those kinda are for Amanda,” Jim winks.

_Amanda_.

She is delighted with the present. Mother puts the bouquet in water and places it in a counter. It seems such a waste. James Kirk it’s all smiles and broad exaltation. He talks non-stop if given the opportunity. Spock looks at him across the table.

He is studying the first year at Starfleet Academy, and he shows a petulant attitude about it. Top of all the classes he attends, he’s confident he will make it on three years. Kirk is not a scientist, he is running toward the ‘brighter spot’: captaincy. He has a lot in mind, it is easy to guess a kind of organized mess going through his head. Spock wonders about the faculties of the synapses in such a over-exited brain. It might collapse.

His presence alone feels enough to fill the whole room. There is nowhere else to look at when he is dragging all the attention towards himself. All the light appears summoned under the power of his voice, the brightness of his eyes.

It is unsetting. James Kirk disintegrates Spock’s appetite and ties his insides in a pressed knot.

Suddenly he experiences disgust towards the human.

How unfortunate it is that, one in less proportion than the other, both are humans, indeed.

* * *

 

“So,” this is the second time James Kirk attempts to start a conversation by emitting something more resembling to a sound in the same night, the third time in total, anal of them happened while talking to him. He should not search for patrons unnecessarily, but it can be taken as a part of his study on human behavior. “What’ya planning to do after high school?”

“I will apply for _Starfleet_ ,” Spock says, plain as ever.

Amanda comes back from the kitchen with a stray. There are three mugs, one of tea, and two of coffee. She seats it on the small table between the coach and the chairs and sits in her usual spot, nearby the unlit hearth.

Spock sees his mother exchange a sort of conspiratorial look with Kirk. It is a quick shift of the eyes and then it is gone.

“About that, I was talking the other day with Pike, and he said you needed extra money, Jim,” he says nothing. Spock thinks he cannot read his expression properly. Somewhat he has got used to recognize a bunch of them on his face, always so keen to say it all. “And, while I know how good you are, honey,” his time she turns her fully attention to Spock. He would like her to stop calling him that, especially in front of other people. “You could use a little extra help,” and she gives him a knowing glance.

It draws back a conversation they had, briefly, a couple of days before. About somebody tutoring his progress with the exam.

Spock knit the eyebrows together almost comically. Mother seems expectant, she is not nodding but all her body looks like encouraging him to take that path of thought process. James Kirk is sipping on his coffee, as if he were only a spectator.

There is a common expression among his peers at high-school, one that sums the situation quiet efficiently, albeit nonchalantly _: No. Way_.

Spock denies. “No,” it is illogical. They had that argument before. He does not need guidance, least from Kirk. “I do not need tutoring, I am not a child.”

Sarek’s death, seven-point-one month ago on standard date, has meant a severe breakpoint on Amanda’s behavior towards him. When his father was alive, she would stick to the Vulcan way of parenthood. There were no unnecessary endearments in a nonstop basis, there was no ‘fussing’ about every little detail, there were no questions about feelings or the uncommon practice of sharing the thoughts aloud all the time. It was unnerving.

And he was not in need of advice from a selfish specimen like James Kirk.

“Look,” Kirk lets the mug with an audible click on top of the wooden surface, and turns the upper half of his body to stare at Spock, who is sitting beside him in the two-body couch. What a mistake. “I know what I’m talking about when I say there’s no guarantee for anyone, even if you’re a genius. Which it seems you sort of are. And you’re young; Starfleet can be a slaughterhouse for kids,” it seems Kirk eyes has the ability to change under different factors, such as the intensity he is putting on his speech. Spock tries to convey on a way to determine the fallacy of it, but then Kirk has finished talking and it does not sound at all _okay_.

Spock is _not_ a kid.

“I do not need your help,” he stands, and straightens the hem of his black shirt. “If you excuse me, mother. Kirk,” Spock says, nodding down at Jim, who has narrowed the eyes in a connoting way of making him get into reason.

Mother seems willing to coax him to stay, reaching out with a hand that falls on her lap almost immediately.

He disappears upstairs, behind the door to his room. He won’t spare a thought on the matter that night.

Nor in the determined shine on Kirk eyes.


End file.
